


let me try again, and again

by widow



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, rivals to teammates, self-aware pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 21:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15872499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/widow/pseuds/widow
Summary: “Ah… no way. You won’t miss losing to me that much.” Hana jabs a sharp elbow into Yuna’s side and tilts her head to grin up at her. Yuna slows and they fall into step, shoes beating a louder rhythm against the pavement now they’re walking in time.





	let me try again, and again

**Author's Note:**

> My first published fic in about 6 years? I've been inspired. We don't have any current info on what game D.Va and D.Mon played professionally so it's intentionally vague, but owes a lot to the professional Overwatch scene. Written in 12 hours and unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own, if you find any please feel free to let me know. Title loosely from Mitski's ["Pink in the Night".](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-B5yr2zyY0)

 

Song Hana and Lee Yuna's professional gaming careers begin like this: two championship titles won back to back in style. _Team D.Fenders_ run through the competitive season virtually uncontested until playoffs and then, against all odds, against last year’s champions, they win in their debut season. Three months later they do it all again, off the back of dozens of clutch plays made by their star player; the gaming media’s newest D.Va.

 

* * *

 

Hana’s hands fly over the keyboard, the keys clacking in frantic rhythm. She’s totally engrossed in the screen, her legs folded beneath her hunched upper body, her eyes wide and glassy, a single tooth hooked over the soft pink of her bottom lip betrays her concentration.

Yuna must have been staring for nearly a minute before she catches herself still hovering in the doorway to the practice room, _Nano Cola_ in one hand, the other propping her up against the threshold. Hana’s ears are covered by a huge, pink set of headphones, the game audio saving Yuna from having to explain herself by virtue of going unnoticed. She crosses the room to her own pc, the one right next to Hana, but Hana doesn’t seem to notice her even as Yuna sits down, pulling her legs up so she can fold her arms around her knees and watch the rest of the game play out.

Before she’s even had a chance to analyse what’s happening on screen, Hana yells out in frustration. Her hands are in the air, then scrubbing through her hair, pulling her headset off as she goes. The screen flashes a loss message across it, and Yuna frowns in sympathy. She’s seen that sight enough to know that it still stings as much now as it did the first time she picked up the game and realised that even when she plays her best, losses happen.

 “I swear… every match tonight has been the worst.” Hana rubs the heel of her hand into her eye and stretches out, the joints of her knees popping in protest of being contorted into a small space for hours on end.

“There there. Think of it this way, this is your first loss of the day.” Yuna points at the clock in the bottom of her home screen and how it reads just after midnight. They’re probably the last two people in the building aside from some night staff, but that isn’t all that unusual. Hana is the hardest working player on the team in terms of pure practice time, and Yuna’s own competitive streak has dragged her along into countless long, itchy-eyed nights.

“I’m going to quit and go into playing _League_.”

“Best of luck with your new career. Though last week I thought you said it was going to be _Heroes of the Storm_.”

Hana’s nose scrunches up as she gives Yuna a look. It sets Yuna off laughing, but she chalks that up to mild sleepless hysteria.

The room is quiet, save for the humming of the computers, the whir of fans battling to keep the internal temperature down after hours of use. Faintly, Yuna can just about make out the sound of the main menu music from Hana’s headset. She’s tired, her eyes are already strained from too much blue light, but at just after midnight she knows they have a good few hours of time left before one of them finally calls it quits. It’s a Friday night and they have Saturday mornings free; for the past few months this has meant gaming sessions until at least 2am, then a morning spent in bed until dragged up for scrimmages later in the day. If it wasn’t for Hana, Yuna would have packed it in when the rest of the team did. Even the coaches have started complaining to them both about the importance of quality sleep.

 But they didn’t win two consecutive championships by sleeping.

“I’m tired tonight, Yuna.”

The sound startles Yuna out of her thoughts, she’s been staring again, this time at a square of blank white wall just left of her monitor. She focuses back on Hana and Hana _looks_ tired. The rings beneath her eyes are nearly purple and in the harsh white light of the screen and fluorescent lights above she looks so pale as to be sickly.

“We can go home if you want,” Yuna says, snapping the top of her Nano Cola; the can has sweated a damp ring onto her desk, but it’s still cold when she takes a mouthful.

“No, I want to stay.” Hana turns back to her screen, stretching her arms again, rotating her shoulders and wrists and biting at her lip.

It’s not the answer Yuna was hoping for; she turns back to her monitor and boots up the launch client for the game when she feels a weight on her shoulder. She thinks for a split second that it’s Hana’s hand, but it’s too heavy. It’s her head. This close Yuna can smell Hana’s shampoo, can feel the bulk of the headset digging into the soft skin of her upper arm. Her hair is falling around her face, from this angle she can’t see Hana’s expression.

“Do _you_ want to–?”

_Do you want to stay?_

The question hangs in the air, mixes with the sound of the fans and the faint menu music and the breeze from the cracked window.

_Do you want to stay and play tonight?_

_Do you want to stay with the team?_

_Do you want to stay with_ me _?_

“If you do.”

Hana turns her face inwards, noses against the seam of Yuna’s t-shirt and she swears she can feel Hana smile against the fabric. She swears her whole body is shaking, that Hana will notice the race of her heartbeat. Her hand is too slick to even think about holding a mouse, and it isn’t from the can of cola.

They’ve spent hours in this room, enough to fill months of aimless banter, high fives, hands on shoulders. Hana has hugged her every time they’ve ever won something and every time Yuna has felt her heart hammer at her ribcage like it wants to escape.

“I’ll be right here.”

If Hana falls asleep here, on Yuna’s shoulder as she boots up a game and plays silently, Yuna never tells anyone else.

 

* * *

 

Maybe, it begins like this: team trials attended by hundreds of players, most of whom have never played at a LAN in their lives. The difference is barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but the players can feel it. The latency of online play–something they all train their muscle memory to account for–is gone. Adjusting to the few milliseconds difference within minutes, rewriting months of practice, outperforming players known on the competitive scene for years. A whittled-down list of just sixteen candidates go on to official scrimmages, and just 6 end up securing spots on _Team D.Fenders_ , an unsponsored, amateur team–likely to dissolve after a single season if they don’t perform.

Hana is the one who mentions the trials first, nonchalantly when they're playing together on ladder. Yuna hardly notices the hopeful tone in her voice when she brings it up, more focused on winning the game at hand. But they both show up, they both play their hearts out and they both take the step into professional esports together, making it look at easy as breathing.

 

* * *

 

The _Gwishin_ walk out of the sea and destroy the street that Song Hana grew up on in one night.

The war goes badly for months when the drones used to pilot the MEKA units are put out of commission by the omnics, and by the time the trials have run out of potential candidates from the army most of Busan has felt first-hand the destruction. It’s a last ditch effort turning to the competitive gaming scene, an outside once-in-a-million shot that every single member of _Team D.Fenders_ , and may others besides, agree to bet their lives on.

The MEKA training process is gruelling, it makes the late night gaming sessions of professional play seem like a meagre concession. Now they give up more than sleep to practice: careers, family, friends are all offered up on the altar of sacrifice for the good of their country. Everything is put on hold for months at a time while they learn to pilot the mechs.

And in the end, after everything, only five of them are chosen. Yuna and Hana go for a meal with their old team–Korean barbecue, the only food they could ever all agree on–and say their goodbyes. There’s relief written on their teammates' faces, along with no shortage of disappointment; months of combat training has them worn out and they’ve all put everything into it, but they’ve all seen the _Gwishin_ firsthand by now, and they all know that as much as they were willing to take up the mantle had they been chosen, actual combat terrifies all of them. They still feel like children, enclosed in a multi-billion won war machine or not.

Yuna and Hana walk back to their accommodation together, the rest of the unsuccessful candidates have already been moved out. Yuna’s stride is longer, but it’s about the only time that Hana struggles to match her pace, so she doesn’t much feel compelled to slow down for her. The Busan streets are quiet in the summer evening, most people too fearful of the night and what it brings to stay out too late. The attacks are still years apart at this point, but the estimated projections of the next one has the whole country on edge; not just the people in the city.

“I’m going to miss gaming, I think.” Hana says, adjusting the strap of her bag across her chest.

“You think? You used to do nothing but game, you shut-in.”

“You too–!”

“Yes, but I know I’m going to miss it. I’d take playing esports over––” Yuna stops herself from finishing the sentence. It’s a selfish sentiment, and not one she really means. She’s honored to have been chosen, even if she knows the months ahead are full of dangerous uncertainty.

“Ah… no way. You won’t miss losing to me that much.” Hana jabs a sharp elbow into Yuna’s side and tilts her head to grin up at her. Yuna slows and they fall into step, shoes beating a louder rhythm against the pavement now they’re walking in time.

She knows that Hana is as afraid as she is, despite it all. There’s no way she wouldn’t be. There’s a pang in her chest at the thought; as much as Yuna is used to them both putting up a cool front for the media, she knows that Hana has a face for the cameras and one for their teammates and one just for her, one that she’s not sure she’s ever been able to see all the way through. 

She’s fond, of the ribbing and the smiles and the way Hana’s lashes fan over her cheeks, of how she scrunches up her face to laugh and how she makes finger guns across the training room at her every time they make eye contact. Of the shape of her nose, her collar poking from just above her t-shirt, of all the times she’s seen her almost choke on soda when trying to drink while playing. 

They’ve been in orbit of each other like this for months now–or longer, nearly always out of step; whether Hana’s mechanical skill or Yuna’s longer strides, but they have still managed to slot together as a pair neatly, to act like foils without ever having agreed to do so. They’ve even agreed to keep the matching handles from their now-defunct pro team, so similar, yet different.

Yuna’s hand reaches out and finds Hana’s, dry and warm and a touch smaller than her own, their knuckles brush as they walk, once, twice. After that they’re not sure who finally moves to take the other’s hand.

“If you’re scared, you can trust in me. I’m your most reliable teammate.” Hana smiles, always the braver of the two, to be the first to mention the apprehensive fear coiling low inside both of them. The soft curve of her mouth makes Yuna’s chest swell and ache.

“I’m not scared when I’m with you.” The sentiment comes bubbling from somewhere deep inside her, but it might be the truest thing she’s ever said. She pauses, pulls them both to the side of a street, into the overhang of a doorway of a closed shop. Her hand finds Hana’s cheek, brushes her long hair away from her face. “I wasn’t scared when we played on stage for the first time, or during any of the championships, because I was playing beside you.”

Hana’s face lights up with delight, her eyes gleaming in the soft pink neon of a billboard slung high in the sky above them. Yuna knows, she knows that Hana feels the same way, that the two of them have danced around each other since the first time they heard each other over the static of a crackling mic on the online ladder. She knows they’ve both agreed to keep that distance as it is; their respect and fondness and the grate of their differing personalities fighting an ongoing battle.

They linger awhile in the doorway, close enough they can feel each other’s breathing. Yuna notices Hana’s face heat up under her palm, knows that there’s something between them aching to break free.

There are no cameras here to perform for, no coy smiles or peace signs thrown up in shorthand for actual feelings. Hana is the one that leans in, stretching up on her toes to press their mouths together.

She’s kissing her idol, her rival and her closest friend. Yuna sighs into the contact, opening her mouth to swipe her tongue along Hana’s bottom lip. She’s imagined this, in moments of tension, after victory hugs or tense training sessions, or arguments of team strategy, gently taking Hana's lip between her teeth and biting down.

The resulting gasp makes Yuna melt. Her tongue slides into Hana’s mouth now her lips are parted, and they stay like this, moving pressed together under the neon lights of the city they have sworn their lives to.

 

* * *

  

Or, just maybe, it begins here:

With Yuna ready to tear her hair out. She’s perched on the edge of her chair, gripping her mouse so tight in her hand she feels like she could crush the feather-light plastic beneath her hands. She feels like trying to do just that, she might as well. This is her game. The game she needs to win for promotion, the game she’s been working up to for months. And one player on the enemy team has single-handedly carried them through to victory. She’s tempted to open a chat window and ask the player about hacking when **토끼** sends her a message first.

 **토끼 (Tokki):** ggz

 **토끼 (Tokki):** u were too good 4 ur team

 **토끼 (Tokki):** we should play 2gether ;)

There’s a friend request too. Yuna’s cursor hovers over the accept button.

 **토끼 (Tokki):** just one more game?

 

She accepts.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr ](http://dishonorer.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/CHOlRS).


End file.
